I wrote this for a contest at the Minibar over on y!Gallery...heh... I spent 3 days writing it, and this isn't even one of my favorite parings XD
http:/yaoi(dot)y-gallery(dot)net/club/10039/
This mini-fic/chapter is Ratchet/Ironhide.
Edit: I tried to put in page breaks, but they disappeared... so I fixed it (I hope)
Three misfires on the practice range and disappointing results even with a direct hit has Ironhide cursing his gun. He had neglected to clean it after one particularly nasty battle with the Decepticons, which apparently gave all of the gunk and residue time to ruin the internal components and solidify. Cliffjumper had suggested that Ironhide take his weapon to Wheeljack for an upgrade and overhaul.
Ironhide had balked at first at the idea of letting Wheeljack tinker with his prized weapon, but then the red minibot had pointed out the upgrades the inventor had given to his own weapons, with only minimal explosions in the process.
So, now, Ironhide finds himself outside of Perceptor's lab. He'd checked Wheeljack's lab and office first, obviously, but the inventor is apparently working on a project for the microscope.
"Wheeljack," Ironhide calls as soon as he opens the door, not bothering to knock.
The inventor jumps, hitting his head on the underside of a panel he had been working on. "Ironhide?" Wheeljack questions, sliding out from under the circuitry board, "What is it?" The mostly white and gray mech doesn't mean to be rude, but his head hurts now that he's smacked it.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Wheeljack. I didn't mean to startle you, I was just going to ask if you could do something with my gun. It's malfunctioning, and Cliff said you could work on it," the red bot explains. Neither mech notices the sparks beginning to fall from underneath the component Wheeljack had head butted.
"Sure thing. Just let me finish upgrading this thing," Wheeljack gestures to Perceptor's machine, "And I'll be happy to take a look and see what I can do."
Ironhide nods, looking at the device Wheeljack is working on currently. "What exactly is that?" he asks.
"You remember when Perceptor, Gears, and Bumblebee shrunk down and went into Megatron for the Heart of Cyberton a while back? This is the gizmo that shrank 'em- the transmat reduction beam. Perceptor doesn't like having a two hour window before things return to their normal sizes, so I'm lengthening the time frame…hopefully without breaking it," Wheeljack adds warily.
"Oh yeah," Ironhide walks closer to the inventor, "Perceptor used it to fix one of my memory circuits."
It's at that moment that the machine emits a rather worrying sound as wires begin to arc and the sparks are now very noticeable.
"Aww," Wheeljack's shoulders fall when he sees this occurring, "Not again."
He and Ironhide have just enough time to duck down and cover their helms before the whole device explodes.
"Hey! I think he's coming around!"
Ironhide flinches when someone, sounded like Hoist, yells above him. Sluggishly, the red mech onlines his optics, only to see Ratchet hurriedly arrive and lean over him. "Ironhide, can you hear me?" the medic asks calmly, but Ironhide doesn't miss the worry hidden underneath.
The red mech blinks, memory banks providing him with information about why Ratchet is worried once they boot up. "Of course I can hear you. The explosion wasn't that bad, was it?"
Ratchet huffs, "Bad enough to make the two of you reboot and destroy half of Perceptor's lab."
"Is Wheeljack ok? He was closer than I was, I think," Ironhide says.
"Oh, I'm fine, Ironhide," Wheeljack says off to the side, "Sorry about this…"
Ironhide doesn't try to turn to look at the inventor, his neck doesn't feel all that awesome right now. "Ah, a little explosion never hurt anyone," he jokes.
"Well…I'm not apologizing about that…exactly…" Wheeljack laughs nervously.
This time, Ironhide makes to turn his head, only to have Ratchet hold his helm still. The red mech can't help but think the medic's hands are larger than he remembered them being.
"Just don't blow a circuit, ok, 'Hide? We're working on fixing this," Ratchet says firmly.
"Fix what?" Ironhide growls, trying to push Ratchet away so he can get off the medical berth and ignore how wrong his perspective seems to be. Normally, Ironhide wouldn't struggle against his lover, but this is starting to make him nervous.
"Well…" the medic seems unable to continue, so Hoist finishes for him.
"You're rather small, at the moment. The transmat reduction beam shrank you and Wheeljack just before the entire gizmo destroyed itself."
Ironhide stops pushing on Ratchet. "How small?" he asks carefully, voice rather quiet.
"I was closer, so I got the worst of it," Wheeljack begins, "I'm barely taller than Spike, but you're only a little shorter than Bee."
Ironhide growls, and Ratchet lets him go, though the medic seems to be ready to grab him again if he has to. The now rather small red mech sits up and looks down at his body. Suddenly, what he thought was a glitch in his optics, making things look bigger than they really are, turns into the realization that he's just small. Very small. "You've got to be kidding me!" he yells indignantly.
"Sorry, Ironhide," Wheeljack repeats.
"It wasn't your fault, Wheeljack," Hoist assures the inventor.
Wheeljack manages a laugh, "It blew up, Hoist. If I'm present and it explodes, it was my fault."
"Ah…well…alright, I'll give you that. But think of it, Wheeljack," Hoist says, sounding rather excited, "You'll get to do some firsthand research into minibots!"
"Like what? We already know about minibots…not like they're a mystery or something," Wheeljack says, sounding confused.
"Well, no, but Optimus Prime is convinced that there are areas that need improvement so the minibots can more readily access them. The problem is that no one, not even Gears, will complain about a problem area. Besides, as a scientist, you should be thrilled about this," Hoist points out to the inventor.
"This is fascinating an all," Ironhide grumbles, "But how long will it take us to return to normal?"
Ratchet, much to Ironhide's dismay, shrugs, "Wheeljack was increasing the length of time the beam's effect lasted, but hadn't gotten around to calibrating it. Of course, you two didn't get hit very long by the beam, or you'd be the size of my little finger."
"As soon as Ratchet lets me get out of here, I'm going to start trying to repair the gizmo so maybe we won't have to just wait it out," Wheeljack says, giving the medic a not-so-subtle hint to release him from the medbay.
"Alright, alright," Ratchet grumbles, leveling a slight glare on Ironhide, "You. Stay right where you are. Wheeljack has more damage than you and gets priority, but that doesn't give you permission to run off."
Ironhide nods and Ratchet walks over to the berth the inventor is still lying on. The red mech lies down as well, trying to get some recharge so he won't have to think about how tiny he is, or how awkward things are likely going to be between himself and Ratchet now that he's so much smaller, whereas they used to share a frame type.
An Earth week later, Ratchet and Wheeljack are still shrunken down versions of themselves. They're sudden change in size has been met with mixed reactions among the Autobots.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe thought it was hilarious that Ironhide is short, but they were often seen helping Wheeljack out. Most of the Dinobots started trying to pretend Wheeljack wasn't there, likely unable to understand that he is still Wheeljack, he just looks different. The larger mechs, such as Skyfire, were very nervous with two more bots running around who could potentially be stepped on, especially in the case of Wheeljack.
The actual minibots, however, are just as divided as the other Autobots. Cliffjumper is convinced that Wheeljack shrank himself and Ironhide on purpose as a way to taunt him. Gears has been complaining that everyone is watching him more than usual, expecting him to do something- what, he doesn't know. Bumblebee is just as friendly as ever towards Ironhide and Wheeljack, and actually snapped at the twins once when they started teasing the red mech.
And then there's Ratchet. Ratchet was always asking Ironhide if he was alright, suddenly nervous that the red mech was going to get hurt somehow. Especially when the two tried to be alone for a few moments. The medic could barely even give Ironhide a hug without thinking he was going to put a dent in the red mech or something. It got so bad, that the red mech has taken to avoiding his lover.
Currently, Ironhide is hiding in the rec room, knowing that Ratchet has his hands full patching up one of Powerglide's wings. Wheeljack would have been here too, but he's got his servos full with the transmat reduction beam right now, though he's still not very close to having it repaired. The inventor has discovered that his size is hampering his efforts, but Perceptor has been helping as much as he can- wanting his lab repaired as quickly as possible.
The red bot catches Skydive watching him, and angrily takes a gulp of energon from his cube. "This wouldn't be so slag awful if they wouldn't stare," he growls quietly to Bumblebee, who is sitting next to him.
"Cheer up, Ironhide. Things will be back to normal before you know it," the yellow mech smiles.
"Easy for you to say. Optimus didn't take you off the active duty roster," Ironhide grumbles. Indeed, the Prime had put a stop to both Ironhide and Wheeljack from participating in any battles, stating that neither mech could really fight right now- not with such a drastic change in their sizes. Admittedly, Ironhide couldn't tackle Thundercracker like he would have before, but he could at least take out one of the casetticons! When the red mech had said as much, Prowl proceeded to list of several more reasons why Optimus should remove the two from combat situations.
"Come on," Bumblebee says, elbowing the red mech playfully, "I'm the one who goes after the cassettes. We can't have you taking my job."
Ironhide smirks, gulping down some more energon. "Still," he sighs after a moment, "I don't feel right just sitting around here."
Bumblebee sighs now, leaning back in his seat and studying Ironhide. "What's really bothering you, 'Hide? A few stares never bothered you before," he presses, sounding like he already knows the answer.
"It's none of your business," he says, no malice in his voice.
The yellow mech, however, actually growls. He grabs one of Ironhide's hands and pulls. "Come with me," he orders, dragging the surprised mech behind him from the rec room.
"What are you doing?" Ironhide finally asks when the two are in an abandoned corridor of the Ark.
Bumblebee releases Ironhide, leveling a stern glare on him. "I know you've been avoiding Ratchet," he begins, poking Ironhide in the chest, "And you shouldn't. It's crazy to pass up this chance."
"Chance? What are you talking about? And how do you know I've been avoiding him?"
"I watch bots, it's my job, 'Hide," Bumblebee says easily, referring to his position in special ops, "And by 'chance,' I mean this opportunity to blow Ratchet's mind with a frag he won't forget."
Ironhide blinks, faceplates heating up. "B-but, we c-couldn't interface!" he sputters.
"Why not? Think you're too small?" Bumblebee asks.
Ironhide can't only nod, optics wide and mouth hanging open. He never expected Bumblebee- innocent Bumblebee- to be telling him to go 'face his lover…his much larger lover.
"I swear, you big framed bots have some weird ideas about us minibots. We're not delicate, Ironhide, and Ratchet should know that, he just needs to be reminded, apparently."
The red mech's faceplates feel so hot that they must match his red plating by now. "I…um…." he mumbles, unable to complete a sentence. Ironhide doesn't remember ever being this lost for words before.
"What, you're on bottom? That's what I'm telling you! Focus, 'Hide," Bumblebee knocks on Ironhide's helm gently, "Go tackle Ratchet and drag him into a supply closet if you have to."
"B-but…he's a big framed bot, Bee…" Ironhide manages to say somewhat coherently.
Bumblebee sighs, putting a hand on either of the red mech's shoulders and looking directly into his wide optics. "Let me tell you a secret, Ironhide," he leans close to one of the other mech's audio sensors, "I interfaced with Optimus." Bumblebee abruptly spins Ironhide around and begins pushing him in the general direction of the medbay, "Now shoo! Go cheer up the Hatchet and wipe that scowl off your face, all in one fell swoop."
Before he can argue, Bumblebee releases him and disappears, probably already half way back to the rec room by the time Ironhide realized it. The red mech just stands in the middle of the corridor, feeling like his processors are going to freeze up at any moment for three reasons. One: Bumblebee just told him to interface. Two: Bumblebee interfaced with Optimus Prime. Three: This might possibly work.
Later that day, Ironhide is leaned against a wall inside Ratchet's quarters next to the door, waiting for the medic to come in once his shift is over. The Decepticons haven't shown themselves in a while, so Ratchet shouldn't have any repairs to make.
It had taken Ironhide a while to work up the courage for this. Not only is Ratchet much larger than he is now, but the red mech can't help but get the sinking suspicion that his lover might not want him anymore.
Ratchet walks into the room, sighing and relaxing when the door slides closed and locks behind him.
Relaxing, at least, until a rather short Ironhide appears in front of him. The red mech grabs onto his chest armor and pulls Ratchet down, delivering a very satisfying kiss to the medic.
"Had an odd conversation with Bumblebee," Ironhide says once they've broken apart, though he doesn't release Ratchet yet.
"What are you talking about?" Ratchet asks carefully, kneeling down so he won't have to continue to bend over and feeling decidedly awkward. He's used to his lover being on exactly the same level as him, and this sudden and drastic change has left the medic unsure how to conduct himself.
"He knows you've been acting weird, and I've been avoiding you for it. Told me how to fix the problem," Ironhide says, pressing his body against Ratchet's now.
Ratchet immediately sees where his lover is going with this. "No. Absolutely not. Ironhide, this is a bad idea," he says quickly, trying to gently push the red mech away.
Ironhide, however, only grabs onto the white mech and refuses to back down, "No, Ratchet. I'm not going to slagging break. Or is it something else? You don't want me now that I'm small?"
"Primus, that's not it, Ironhide," Ratchet begins, "It's just…every time you get hurt in a fight with the Decepticons, I nearly worry myself to death. I don't know what I'll do if I'm the one who hurts you."
The red mech's expression softens, now. "Ah, Ratchet, you worry too much. Besides, I've got the best medic on Cybertron right here," Ironhide reasons.
"Not helping, 'Hide," Ratchet says warily, now refusing to touch Ironhide at all.
"Please, Ratchet," Ironhide begins mouthing the medic's neck, just like he likes, "I swear, I won't be reckless like you say I usually am."
Ratchet can't help the shiver that runs through him as Ironhide sucks on a particular cable, making his core temperature spike. "You're being reckless now Ironhide," he declares stubbornly, even as one of his lover's red servos reaches up to trace the edges of his chevron.
Ironhide growls into Ratchet's neck. "You know I'm not weak, Ratchet, and we've hardly spoken, much less touched, in a week. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I miss you? What's it going to take? Do I have to spell out exactly what I want to you?" he asks, other hand sneaking to one of the corners of Ratchet's windshield and rubbing at the seam.
Now it's Ratchet's turn to growl. The medic's hands grasp Ironhide's sides, holding him still. "Promise me you'll tell me if something doesn't feel right?"
The red mech smirks victoriously into Ratchet's neck, "Of course."
Before Ironhide is quite sure what happened, he finds himself deposited in Ratchet's lap on the berth. He gasps in surprise when Ratchet claims a desperate kiss, though it doesn't last long. "Did it ever occur to you," the medic pants, running his servos up and down the red mech's sides, "That I miss you too? I know you're not weak, 'Hide, but I don't want to hurt you…and you've always been 'on bottom' as the humans would say. Do you… want to switch?"
Ironhide turns to straddle Ratchet's legs and grinds his panel against his lover's. "No. The more I think about this, the more fun it sounds. We'll just be careful," he says, leaving no room for further argument. Not that either mech really wanted to argue anymore when their panels are already heating up.
Ratchet groans, his fingers stroking at the seams on Ironhide's now smaller, but still familiar, frame, "Just remember… tell me, ok, 'Hide?"
"Promise," Ironhide shivers, already feeling his spike pressurize and valve lubricate at the thought of what Ratchet's cable will feel like now that he's been shrunken down to minibot size.
As gently as he can, Ratchet lifts Ironhide from his lap before depositing him on his back farther on the berth. The medic uses one hand to continue stroking the red mech's seams, fingers too large to fit into them to caress the wires that reside underneath, while the other hand begins to rub Ironhide's panel.
Bucking his hips at the contact, Ironhide opens his panel. He may have promised not to be reckless, but he never promised to be patient. A surge of pleasure runs through the red mech when Ratchet moans at the sight of the tiny valve leaking lubricant.
Ratchet isn't particularly patient either, not in the mood for teasing touches tonight- not when he's barely even seen Ironhide for an Earth week- not when his lover is being so trusting- not when the small bot has actually agreed to be careful about this. The white and red mech leans down to kiss Ironhide, moving his free hand to support his weight on the berth.
Ironhide wraps an arm around the medic's neck, holding him in place as their glossas twine together, while the other hand once again rubs at the red chevron on Ratchet's helm. Both their cooling systems click on, but their core temperatures continue to rise, regardless.
When a single, cautious finger begins to circle his valve, the red mech throws his helm back with a moan. Ironhide releases Ratchet so the larger mech can sit upright once more.
"And you're sure about this?" the medic pants, voice rough. His finger never stops rubbing the rim of Ironhide's valve, spreading the lubricant around and stimulating more to be produced.
Instead of replying right away, Ironhide reaches down and grabs the medic's servo. With a happy groan, the red mech forces Ratchet's finger into his valve. "If you ask me that one more time, I may be forced to take drastic measures," he threatens hollowly as he shutters his optics at the pleasure in his valve.
Ratchet releases a groan of his own when he feels just how tight Ironhide really is. A shiver runs through his frame when he imagines what his cable would feel like buried in that constricting heat.
Shaking his helm to make himself focus on preparing his small lover, Ratchet nods to acknowledge Ironhide's threat. He eases his finger out to the first joint before just as carefully easing it back into the red mech's valve. Ratchet knows that one finger isn't likely to hurt Ironhide, but it's the principle of the thing, slag it.
Ironhide's vents begin working even harder to cool his frame off. Something about having a much larger mech looming over him is making his temperature skyrocket- the fact that it's his Ratchet doing the looming makes this even more thrilling. "Frag," he pants, "Quit stalling."
Ratchet huffs, free servo beginning to trace the seams in the red plating beneath him once more. "I'm the medical professional here, 'Hide. I'll stall as long as I want," he says, though he doesn't really mean it. He's not sure he can wait any longer than absolutely necessary, actually- not with Ironhide purposefully clenching his valve around the invading digit like that.
Before Ironhide can say anything else, Ratchet begins to press a second finger into his valve. The red mech moans at the stretch, willing his valve to relax as his engine gives a strong rev. "Slag," Ironhide gasps.
Ratchet stills his hand when both fingers are seated within Ironhide, letting the mech adjust. The white mech licks his lips, stifling the moan that tries to slip out of his vocalizer. Before, when the pair had interfaced, they had always fit so perfectly together since they shared a frame type. This time, however, it will be an entirely different experience for both of them, if it works.
Ratchet lets himself imagine his cable buried in the smaller bot, Ironhide's legs spread wide to accommodate his lover with his valve stuffed and stretched to the limit, squeezing and constricting as the normally gruff mech writhes wantonly beneath him.
An impatient huff from Ironhide brings Ratchet back to the present before he can get too carried away and he hurriedly opens his optics, not realizing when he'd shuttered them. His gaze inevitably drifts down to the small mech's interface array, and he can't stop the moan from escaping this time. Already, Ironhide's valve looks more stretched than it normally is when the pair interfaces, but it could just be because the mech is so unusually small and the medic's optics are playing tricks on him.
Ratchet finds himself fairly panting along with Ironhide, the RPMs in his own engine increasing steadily as his core temperature continues to rise, despite his cooling system's best efforts.
Unable to look away, Ratchet watches his fingers carefully pull out ever so slightly before pushing back into the tight valve, hoping to Primus that they will be able to actually interface. A shiver of anticipation runs through the medic as heat flashes through his circuits to settle behind his still closed panel. Rather recklessly, Ratchet scissors his fingers to further stretch Ironhide and prepare him for another finger.
Ironhide arches up with a sharp cry of pleasure. While he'd begun to think that being stretched might feel good, he hadn't imagined it would feel slagging amazing. He knows that there's more on the way too, which makes his valve clench in anticipation. "Ah, Ratchet!" he moans, hips thrusting further onto the invading digits.
"Relax, Ironhide," the larger mech says breathily, vents hitching when the red bot clenches down on his fingers, "This will go faster if you'd relax, I promise."
Ratchet gently scissors his fingers more, beginning to thrust with them at the same time. Ironhide moans, making no effort to quiet himself in hopes of encouraging his lover to hurry this up. Not that he wants to admit it, but the red mech is close to overloading at it is and he's not sure he can hold out for the main event.
A third finger begins to rub along the rim of Ironhide's valve and his engine gives another rev. "Ratchet!" he cries out, grasping at the white chassis above him to pull the medic into a searing kiss. Ironhide stretches his glossa out to meet Ratchet's, never releasing his hold.
Ratchet, however, pries himself away from Ironhide and stills his hand, afraid he's hurt his lover. "You ok?" he asks, still hovering close to the red mech's face.
"Don't you dare stop," Ironhide growls, legs wrapping around the medic's hips to keep him from trying to back away.
Ratchet huffs out a mixed sigh and laugh, relief flooding through him. He rights himself once more before his fingers resume stretching Ironhide's valve. Very slowly, watching Ironhide's faceplates for any sign of pain, Ratchet adds a third finger.
Ironhide had been about to tell the white mech to hurry up, but what started as an impatient growl quickly turns into a strangled moan.
Ratchet stills his hand once more when Ironhide's valve clenches, knowing that, this time, it's very likely a reaction to pain. "Relax, 'Hide," he murmurs, his gaze darting down to the red bot's port just to reassure himself that he hasn't done any obvious damage.
Ironhide offlines his optics, panting heavily to try to cool his systems. There's pain, but there is also a very heavy dose of pleasure- processor stalling pleasure. His helm falls back to hit the berth as he dimly recognizes Ratchet's words.
The red mech starts trying to make his valve relax so Ratchet will start moving those fingers. He can't remember ever feeling this stretched. A loud moan accompanies a shiver as Ironhide again finds himself wondering at how amazing it feels to be under his larger lover.
Slowly, the medic can feel Ironhide relaxing. Just as carefully as before, Ratchet thrusts his fingers farther into the small bot.
When the only reaction is a pleasured cry and a thrust of hips, Ratchet takes it as proof that Ironhide isn't damaged. He withdraws his digits and thrusts them back in a little faster, engine revving when the tiny mech arches up. Ratchet, decision made, sets a steady pace with his fingers, slightly spreading them apart every once in a while to give extra stretch.
It doesn't take long for Ironhide to clutch at the white mech, forcing his optics to online again to look up at him. "Ah! Ratchet! I-mmm-frag!"
Ratchet's engine gives its own rev when Ironhide overloads. The red mech seems taken by surprise, having expected Ratchet to make him wait. Ratchet pins down the small hips, keeping Ironhide from thrashing and harming himself. He doesn't still his fingers, though. Instead, he continues to rub the constricting valve walls, stimulating extra lubricant to be produced as well as prolong his lover's overload.
Ironhide eventually settles, though he looks rather confused. "What are you doing?" he asks, the fact that Ratchet hasn't even opened his panel not escaping him.
"Well," Ratchet begins, spreading the three digits again and earning a yelp from Ironhide as his sensitive valve is stimulated again so soon after an overload, "Now that you've overloaded, there's more than enough lubricant for what you want to try."
"Ratchet!" Ironhide scolds, though he doesn't sound upset at all, "You know I don't like to take when I'm not giving." Indeed, the red bot has never liked overloading unless he can take Ratchet along with him.
"None of that," the medic hushes the small mech, "I'm still not convinced that this is a good idea at all, but, since you've guilted me into it, we'll do it my way. Understand?"
"But-" Ironhide begins to argue, but a warning glare from Ratchet makes him smirk instead, "Yes sir, Chief Medical Officer."
Ratchet grunts, not dignifying that with a response. Instead, he focuses on Ironhide's valve, trying to gauge if it's safely stretched. It's still incredibly tight, which makes the medic lick his dermas, but the valve still gives when he presses, which means that it's not at its limit yet. This might possibly work. "You do realize that, no matter what, you're going to be sore…and I won't be giving you any sympathy when I see you walking funny," Ratchet smirks now.
"Will you just hurry up and frag me!"
"Easy, you're venturing towards 'reckless,' Ironhide," Ratchet chides gently, even though it does seem that the red mech may actually be ready anyway, "And I swear, if something hurts, and you don't tell me, I will seriously consider reformatting you into an ice cream truck." Toasters are much more effective in making a bot wary, but an ice cream truck is degrading and won't impede performance of duty.
"I heard you the first time, Ratchet, and I'm promised, didn't I?" Ironhide grumbles, clearly impatient now that Ratchet has completely stopped moving his fingers and is still pinning his hips down.
"Yeah, you did. I'm still worried though," the medic sighs, leaning down to deliver a sloppy lick to Ironhide's windshield, "But I trust you, 'Hide."
Ironhide places a hand on either side of Ratchet's helm and pulls the medic into short kiss. "I trust you too, or I wouldn't be here," he revs his engine and clenches his valve meaningfully around Ratchet's digits, "Now will you hurry up and frag me?"
Giving his lover an affectionate smile, Ratchet sits upright once again. This time, though, he pulls his fingers out of Ironhide's valve, and a fresh wave of lust burns through him at the amount of lubricant that spills out and the quiet moan from the small mech. Ratchet finally retracts his plating, sighing in relief when he releases his pressurized cable from its housing. Ironhide's engine gives another eager rev when the white mech positions himself between his legs and he feels the large cable just brush against his valve. "Ratchet!" he tries to get more contact with the much larger bot.
Ratchet has to pause, cycling his vents to try and calm himself. This is suddenly looking very much like that small fantasy the medic had allowed himself to have earlier… Ironhide's legs are indeed spread wide to fit on either side of Ratchet's hips… Ratchet is having to grip the smaller mech's hips to keep him from squirming… That valve looks so deliciously small…
The medic quickly shutters his optics to keep himself from losing his self-control. He's been able to keep his arousal in check so far, and it would do no good to get careless now. "Relax…and for Primus' sake, stay still, Ironhide," he says, voice unsteady.
When Ironhide actually makes an effort to do as Ratchet told him, the white mech ever so slowly presses his cable forward.
Ironhide's mouth falls open at the blunt pressure, thicker and more substantial than those fingers had been. A loud moan leaves the red mech's vocal synthesizer when the connector hub enters him, only to turn into a frustrated growl when Ratchet stops. Ironhide has never been the most patient of mechs, especially when it comes to interfacing. He looks up into the medic's faceplates, confused by the expression. "Ratchet, I'm fine," he gasps when Ratchet's cable shifts slightly inside him, "Ah! More, please, Ratchet. I can handle it."
"But I can't! Slag it, just hold still," the medic growls, silencing Ironhide, as his white and red frame trembles, "Ironhide, this feels so amazing, but if you don't pipe down…" Ratchet doesn't finish his threat- can't finish it. Not when the end of his cable is encased in the tightest, hottest, slickest valve he could ever have imagined. It is quite possibly the hardest thing he's ever done to not immediately burry his entire cable in Ironhide, but the knowledge that his lover will definitely be damaged by that stills his hips.
Control regained over himself, Ratchet makes himself focus on Ironhide once more. The smaller mech is panting, engine revving sporadically, and tremors running through his frame. Trusting that his lover will tell him to stop if needed, Ratchet begins to carefully ease his cable deeper into Ironhide's incredibly tight valve with small thrusts.
Ironhide alternates between moans and soft cries as Ratchet cable continues to stretch him more than he's ever been before. He does his best to remain still and keep his valve from tightening further around the invading cable, lest Ratchet stop again, but it's harder than he thought it would be. All the red mech wants to do is bury Ratchet's cable in his valve in one quick thrust, but the medic's grip on his hips has only tightened, preventing that from happening. "Ratchet!" he cries out when the hub of the medic's cable hits a sensor node toward the back of his valve.
Ratchet's willpower snaps and, with cry of his own, slams his cable the remaining distance into Ironhide. Thankfully, that distance wasn't very great.
The pair moan loudly, frames trembling and engines revving. Ironhide's valve now clenches around the white mech's cable, drawing another moan from them. "Ratchet, oh, Ratchet, slag," Ironhide pants out, unable to think past how perfect it feels to be so stretched- to be so very filled- and to know that Ratchet is feeling the same bliss.
Ratchet is in a similar state. He can no longer remember anything outside of the realm of Ironhide- how so very pleasure-filled the red bot's voice his- how that impossibly tight valve continues to constrict around him- how Ironhide is trying to thrust his hips to get still more sensation.
The medic has, however, recovered some of his common sense, so, instead of immediately beginning to frag his lover into the berth, Ratchet holds still. Both mechs continue to pant, a moan breaking through every now and then, while they try to get their wits about them once more.
"Are you ok?" Ironhide is finally able to ask.
Ratchet huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, "Yeah, 'Hide." He leans down, still careful, and kisses Ironhide lovingly.
The red mech reaches up to rub at Ratchet's chevron when the kiss ends, persuading the medic to hold still. "You don't know how glad I am this worked, Ratchet," he says quietly, delivering a quick kiss to the medic's cheek.
Ratchet smiles fondly at Ironhide, yet again finding himself wondering at how strange it is for the mech to be so much smaller. "I love you, 'Hide," he says, looking directly into the lust-filled optics of the mech beneath him seriously.
Ironhide beams, that being the first time Ratchet has said so since the explosion in Perceptor's lab. Instead of replying verbally, he slams his still smiling mouth over Ratchet's in a sloppy kiss as he purposefully tightens his valve and gives a very powerful rev of his motor.
The larger mech cries out into Ironhide's mouth, hips jerking involuntarily forward. Taking that as a sign that he's stalled enough and that the red bot's patience has completely worn out, Ratchet revs his own engine as his nips at Ironhide's dermas. Drawing out slightly, Ratchet cautiously presses forward once more.
When Ironhide only responds with another moan, Ratchet increases the pace, withdrawing more and more each time before he presses his cable back into his lover.
Ratchet works up to a steady speed, making sure his thrusts aren't rough. Apparently, though, it doesn't suit Ironhide.
"Slag, Ratchet!" he cries out, "I think we've established that I won't break!"
"If you'd like, I could stop you from walking tomorrow," he smirks, delivering a firm lick to the small neck cables, "But, I see your point."
Ironhide shivers in anticipation when the medic's hands change their grip to give the white mech more leverage. If Ratchet would frag him like normally-
The small mech nearly screams when Ratchet slams his cable into him, back arching sharply and servos searching for something to hold onto. "Yes! Ah! Ratchet!" he cries out, hearing the large bot moan above him.
Ratchet nearly overloads at Ironhide's reaction. He uses his grip on the small hips to pull Ironhide down onto his cable in time with his thrusts. "'Hide," the medic manages to say coherently. Ironhide's fingers finally curl around the medic's to grasp as their hips clang together now.
Both of the Autobots know they're close. This is too intense to drag out. Their mouths meet for another passionate kiss, swallowing each others' cries.
Everything is too much. His legs are forced wide to make room for Ratchet. His valve is stretched to the limit, clenching even tighter to drive the pair wild. His back is arching so much that his windshield is scraping against Ratchet's larger one. His glossa is warring with Ratchet's. Ironhide overloads first with a loud cry, arms wrapping around the white chassis above him and holding his medic close as pure pleasure crashes through him.
Ratchet's own overload hits the instant that Ironhide's valve becomes impossibly tighter, rippling around his cable in spasms. He kisses his red bot harder, adding his own cry into the mix as his servos clutch desperately to the small, thrashing hips, and the lovers ride out their overloads in bliss.
Ratchet onlines his optics as Ironhide does the same. Both are panting, having broken their kiss, to try and cool their frames off.
Carefully, Ratchet pulls his cable free of the red mech's valve, both of them moaning at the aftershocks of pleasure. "Don't get testy," Ratchet smiles, "But are you ok?"
"You worry too much, Ratchet," Ironhide smiles up at the medic, "I'll be sore, but it's not like I'll mind it at all."
The larger mech laughs at that before he rolls them both onto their sides. Ratchet pulls Ironhide close to his own chassis. "I missed you, 'Hide," he murmurs above the red helm as he retracts his cable into its housing and both their interface panels close. There will be time for cleaning up later.
"Missed you too, Ratchet," Ironhide says as engine rumbles contentedly, "How long do you think it'll take for me to get back to my regular size?"
"I don't know," Ratchet sighs, "Wheeljack's working as fast as he can, though. I don't think he likes being human sized."
"I was just going to ask…" Ironhide wriggles in the medic's arms until he's looking into his optics, "When it's fixed, do you think we could talk Perceptor into shrinking me every now and again?"
"Hey, Wheeljack," Bumblebee greets his old friend the next morning in the rec room, "How are you?"
"Hey, Bee," the tiny mech replies, climbing up to sit on the same bench as the yellow minibot to refuel with a sigh, "Tired. Why does everything have to be so high up and hard to reach?"
Bumblebee laughs, patting Wheeljack on the back, "Ah, you get used to it, I guess."
"No offense, but I can't wait to get back to my normal size."
"None taken, buddy. None taken," the yellow mech smiles, knowing that Wheeljack is at a disadvantage with the way the Ark is set up.
The pair sit in comfortable silence until Wheeljack finishes his energon rather quickly and bids the minibot a farewell. He's been putting in a lot of extra time trying to fix the transmat reduction beam device. Most mechs are either still recharging or have already started their duty shifts by now, leaving the rec room relatively empty. Bumblebee is an early riser, but doesn't have a duty shift for another four cycles.
It isn't long after Wheeljack left, however, when Ironhide and Ratchet walk into the nearly empty rec room. Bumblebee hides his smirk behind his cube of energon when he catches a very subtle wince on Ironhide's faceplates.
The pair get their own cubes of energon before joining Bumblebee. "Good morning, guys," he smiles innocently.
Ratchet leans forward, a rare playful glare leveled on the yellow mech. "I blame you, Bumblebee," he says.
The minibot promptly dissolves into fits of giggles.